The world we dreamt
by KingSoren
Summary: "I wanted to give you a world where crests and names weren't so much weight on your shoulder. Where you could be free from all the responsibilities crushing you to the bones. A world where you could have lived how you wanted. A world we dreamt so long ago." - Sylvix Week Contribution.


Sooo I wasn't supposed to write anything and I didn't write anything for quite some years now, but well, you all know how it works, you see some very pretty fanart on tumblr, and your mind is going crazy and it's just HAVE to get this out of your head so...

And, as you may have guessed it, English is not my first language, so I'm really sorry for the mistakes I made in the translation. I'm trying my best, really.  
You can read the original one - in french - on the site too.

Sylvix contribution, Day 1 - Promises/Childhood/Reunion.

Please, feel frew to let a review, it's always appreciated. Enjoy 3

* * *

With a dry gesture, Sylvain removed the spear from the inert body at his foot, dark and deep red flooding the streets once more. A life going astray again, with some snippets of dreams disappearing thanks to his bloodied hands. And even if he refuses to look at their empty face and dull eyes, guilt and helplessness submerge him as sure as death was drowning the capital.

The knight stands up straight, but his shoulders remained arched and the grip on his smeared weapon too rigid to be right. His gaze stayed on the tainted ground of the city and it took him what seems like a lifetime to have his eyes to rise on the steps leading to the city wall. He can feel his heart tightens as, one by one, he saw them passed until he saw it. Feet anchored deep on the stone.

His fingers whiten under the desperate force of his grip on his spear and he had to remember himself to breath, to force himself to look up, again, always.

Memories jostle in his mind with a terribly painful precision.

\- o -

_Sylvain watched the young Fraldarius standing a few steps away with great care, his lips wrinkled in a childish mimic of intense concentration and his amber eyes never getting off the knight. Like every year in those lands, the training ground was covered with a thick layer of snow, almost reaching their knees. Of course, that didn't stop the two children from seven and nine years old from going out to have fun and throwing themselves into wild snowball games._

_Little Gautier loved these moments more than anything else. Far from home, far from his brother, far from the eyes of the other nobles, these times spent with Felix were the most precious of his short life. During these days, he could finally forget Miklan's hatred, his mother's look, the power that sometimes flowed through his veins under the impulse of the cursed crest engraved in his blood and body._

_It was only he and his friend's shy smile, his laughter, always shy and never fully confident. It was Felix's hand in his own when the young child wanted to show him something, the little redness tinting his cheeks when Sylvain take him in his arms to comfort him or to simply have him against him._

_He didn't really knew, at the time._

_It was the games, the hunts, the false battles, like now. Felix was standing in his boots, straight and proud only a few steps from him. The snow had left long traces of moisture on his clothes and some snowflakes in his hair were shining like stars in the night sky. With how his muscles were tense, Sylvain could easily guess that he was ready to jump at him. And he was waiting for him, with that provocative smile of his, eyes full of joy and fun._

\- o -

Felix stood on the steps, straight and proud, his eyes lowered towards the knight and eyebrows frowned in his eternal cold and angry look. Blood dripped from his sword, staining his clothes, his skin, the leather armor covering his tight muscles, tenses and ready for action. And Sylvain knew – may the Goddess save him – he knew that Felix was ready to throw himself at him anytime, that any words he might tell would have been stupidly useless. And yet, they burned his lips, his body, his soul itself now that he was there, facing him and under the pressure of his so wonderful and angry gaze.

But it was too late and he knew it.

\- o -

_Felix rushed at him, with all the blind truthfulness and strength that a seven-year-old child could have, and Sylvain let him get near. Despite his focus, he smiled as he battled with his friend, snowballs flying in every corner. Felix laughed when Sylvain missed him and laugh when he hit him, but the little redhead was subtly making sure to always give him enough time to react, to always let him lead the dance of their little game, if only to be able to look for a few more minutes the sparkling joy in the young child's eyes._

_Snowflakes were dancing around them in the bright white sky._

\- o -

Not a single word was exchanged. Felix rushed at him, accurately fast and agile like the perfect swordsman he had become. Strong, confident. Deadly. Sylvain let him get near, his heart beating fast and strong. Iron hit the iron, the sword shattered against the spear in a terrible shock. A second, breath against breath, the two men watched each other, sadness against anger, before splitting up and hitting each other again in a deadly dance.

Blood was flying around them, smearing the ground and hiding the sky with a disturbing reddish shade.

\- o -

_A shoulder blow suddenly shook the little knight's body. Sylvain had seen it coming in his friend's eyes and demeanor, but he still let himself be mistreated willingly. The sound of their coat, fur rubbing against fur, resonated in his ear and his foot slipped on the ground as he let himself lose his balance, landing in the snow. It only took a second to feel Felix's featherweight on his hips. The young Fraldarius pressed both hands on his chest, a hilarious laugh escaping from his slightly blue lips as he pressed with all his weight to keep his friend on the ground._

_"I won!"_

_It would had been easy for Sylvain to just knock it down, but he was far too busy loosing himself in the sound of the child's laugh and the true happiness of his face. His own smile widened when two cheerful and beautiful copper irises landed on him. And at the time, Sylvain already knew from his racing heart that Felix had won far, far more than their little fight._

_He wished the game would never stop._

\- o -

Sylvain saw it coming. The way Felix's demeanor changed, how his arm moved slightly apart, the stature of his feet, the movement of his shoulders. By the look in his eyes. It would have been easy to avoid, for the thousandth time, to allow this fight to go on again in that damned and deadly dance.

But Sylvain was tired of this game.

When Felix charged, he let him. Crash of metal against metal made him deaf for a tiny moment before he felt himself falling back on Arianrhod's cold paving stones. His lungs emptied suddenly when his back hit the ground and at the sudden weight on his hips, the solid hand on his armor nailing him to the ground.

Sylvain couldn't help but smiled when his eyes crossed Felix's.

"You won, Fe. »

Anger. Anger, anger and grief and hurt drowned the swordsman's gaze. His lips pinched, his hand shaking on the guard of the sword whose blade was perfectly slipped into an imperfection of his armor. Sylvain could feel the edge against his skin, ready to tear his flesh apart and finally, finally, put an end to the immense mess that was his existence.

But Felix just stayed still, motionless. And, for a moment, Sylvain began to believe that, perhaps just a tiny part of his friend did not hate him for what he did. That maybe, beside hatred and anger, somewhere deep inside Felix, a broken fragment of their friendship lost in the limbo of war remained. That it was this feelings - regret? Pity? Something else? – which was making his eyes shine that way.

Goddess, how he had always loved loosing himself in the intensity of his gaze.

But that was probably just his mind, he thought. And yet, giving up the ghost of life with that mere thought had something comforting. The dying feeling that Felix cared, even just for a shattered fraction of time, was more than enough for him. More than he truly deserved.

Sylvain raised an arm, slowly, tenderly almost, if someone could tell. As if the surrounding war was not raging, as if this moment only belonged to the two of them. With a gesture he'd done a million time in his lifetime, he pulled off his gauntlet of his hand and let it fell on the ground under the piercing gaze of the swordsman. He sensed him stiffen on his knees, probably thinking the redhead was still up for a fight. And yet, when Sylvain's hand came to gently rest on his, clenched around the handle of his deadly sword, he still didn't move.

"There." Sylvain whispered, a sad smile on his lips and eyes lost in deep copper. "I'll help you."

Something shifted in the air.  
Those few words made Felix's eyes open wide and lips quiver slightly as warm breath delightfully caress Sylvain's skin. Maybe his friend would have said something to him – scold him, without a doubt – but the knight chose this very moment to forcefully press the sword threatening his life with a sudden blow.

Pain exploded in his body. Expected, but deep, so deep in his flesh and bones he barely noticed how the sword tried to resist him in a desperate way. Sylvain's body arqued under the sudden agony, impaling himself more without thinking before collapsing slowly again the street, shaking tremendously. His executioner's hiccup of surprise was nearly lost in his own groan lost between his tight jaws when he felt his own body suddenly struggling to keep enough air in his lung. Metallic aftertaste of blood was already in his mouth.

His eyes never left Felix's.  
He couldn't help but smile again. Simple and clean. True and soft.

"Y'know..." The words were hard on his tongue. "It's ok if you hate me. Deserved it, didn't I?"

Usual playfulness was gone from his voice, leaving it at the raw sincerity of his feeling. Was it a better time that the few minutes he had to stop pretending, to leave all his lies behind? There was so many things he wished he could say to him, so many feeling he wanting him to know. But Felix was hating him and it was fine with it. The swordsman didn't need to know. He never had before and Sylvain wanted to keep it this way.

It was a selfish wish, in a convoluted way. To want his friend to despise him so he wouldn't suffer, wouldn't be sad, wouldn't mourn his death. He would be remembered as nothing else that a traitor, but it was fine, because he couldn't stand even the idea to hurt him more than he already did. Never again.

Sylvain thought he was prepared for that. And yet.  
Yet, it was hurting him in such an overwhelming way the sword in his stomach and lung was nothing but a scratch. How could he bear the fact the only person whom made him feel truly alive hated him to his very core? How could he stand it, when every part of his being was foolishly, desperately pulsating with the primal need of his existence in his life?

"Why, Sylvain?"

The choking whisper tore his scattered thoughts, breaking the world of "what if" which was his life. In a mere second, Sylvain was brought back here and then again by that shaky voice, blood flowing from his open wound, dying with all of his lost hopes and dreams.  
He suddenly realized the sweet heat on his cheeks emanating from Felix's hands, realized how close his face was, his forehead against his own and their nose nearly touching. He became aware of deep brown eyes drowning in his – god, have he ever told him how beautiful they are? – of his desperate gaze and…

Sylvain's heart skipped a beat.

Felix was crying.  
He was _crying_.

He saw him cried only once in a lifetime, at Glenn's death.  
It had broken his heart then and he remembered he would have given the world, the sky, the stars, everything that could have soothed his pain and dried up his tears. Anything to never see him so sad and heartbroken again. He remembered taking the frail man in his arms, a hand slowly soothing his silky hair and whispering promises for a brighter future between his sobs.

He remembered how Felix finally smiled at him this day.

And how it broke his heart now, to see him like this again, now that they're no longer children and he can't just embrace him, can't just swear everything would get better with time. Now that he was crying for _him_ and he couldn't do anything to make him feel better. He tried nevertheless, to raise an arm, but he barely had the strength to move a finger, his body far too heavy and mind drifting away. It make him wonder how much time already passed and how much time he had left.

Focus, Sylvain Jose Gautier. You still have things to accomplish. You'll have time to be dead soon enough.

He tried again, his breath catching in his aching throat without any better results. Felix watched him and, as if he understood what he was trying, grabbed his hand himself. The knight felt him intertwine their fingers and, when his friend squeeze his hand, he couldn't help but smiled at him.

Maybe he was already dead. Maybe it was just his brain, impersonating all his fantasies. Maybe Felix didn't care and just let him die on that dark street of Fhirdiad without batting an eye. But did it really matter?

"I never forgot… our promise…"

An abrupt coughing fit made his head light, drawing a thin line of red blood in his chin. Felix's thumbs washed it away kindly but another came, and another. Sylvain forced his throat to calm, breathing harsh but never, never breaking eye contact. He had to say it. Just this.

"Don't hold it, Fe."

A broken sob escape the swordsman lips and something inside Sylvain just broke for good. He felt his own tears on his cheeks, melting with Felix's and in a desperate attempt, he released the hand in his to hopelessly grab the main by his shoulder, holding him again him with all the strength he could mutter.

"Sylv…"

"Live, ok?" He cut him in an erratic breath. Shit. He didn't have the time to cry, to regret, to apologize. He wishes he could. "I'll wait. Just… Live. Please. _Please_."

"_Why_?"

Felix's voice was so broken, so fragile it hurt to hear.  
_Because I wanted to give you a world where crests and names weren't so much weight on your shoulder. Where you could be free from all the responsibilities crushing you to the bones. A world where you could have lived how you wanted. A world we dreamt so long ago._  
_I wanted a world to be by your side, Fe._

But none of these words escaped from his lips. Sylvain just smiled before closing his eyes. It was better this way, he told himself. It had to be better this way. Felix didn't have to know, didn't have to suffer more than he already does.  
But Felix was just as stubborn as he was. He felt vaguely shaken, probably hit too with a punch in the shoulder and a heart-wrecking cry of anger and helplessness shook him to the bone.

"Damn it Sylvain, say it! Fuck! Just _tell_ me!"

The knight opened his eyes again - he only saw fuzzy spots and colors, except for Felix's eyes looking at him with despair achingly matching his own feelings.  
Sylvain felt the words escaped his lips without having any control over them.

"I love you, Felix. Always have, always will."

For a mere second, time stopped just for them. Just enough for him to see the understanding of his words on the features of his face, to see the tears spreading even more and the regret and sorrow invade his eyes. Ah... What a fool he has been, until his very last breath.

He surprised himself by suddenly wanting to fight.  
Fight to stay conscious. Fight to live, to enjoy the warmth of the impetuous embrace of his long time love. Fight to chase away all those tears crashing on his face and really hear the sweets words whispered painfully in his ear.

But it was far too late for that.  
His eyes closed against his will and despite his wish.  
He managed to find the strength to lowly sigh one last word. One last plea.

"Stay?"

When he sank into darkness for what he knew was the last time, it was with the distant feeling of lips on his own and the beloved echoes of _idiot_ and _love_ in his ears.


End file.
